


Eleven Pipers Piping

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Holby City
Genre: (a modern re-telling), Alternate Universe - A Christmas Carol, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: A Christmas Carol in prose, being a ghost story of Christmas. This timeworn tale of Serena Campbell and how her own disappointments in life shape her view that life is not worthy of her notice or concern. But the curmudgeonly gentlewoman is about to get her comeuppance when she is visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.





	Eleven Pipers Piping

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Eve! Thank you all for reading along during this ficfest, and many thanks to the ladies who participated, and a big shoutout to my partner in crime, Jess, without whom everything would be terrible.

_I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little story, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it. - Charles Dickens (and also your fic author)_

Elinor was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. She was injured on hospital grounds, breathed her last gasp in a hospital bed. Some said they felt the specter of her ghost roaming the halls. Serena just scoffed and said they were all too old to be believing in scary stories that wouldn’t even frighten a toddler.

It’s true that Elinor’s ghost does not perhaps gain a corporeal form inside of Holby Hospital, but her presence left an indelible mark on her mother, changing her, hardening her. Serena has removed herself, made herself colder - some might say there’s a bitterness about her. Even her co-lead, Bernie Wolfe, has retreated from the ice queen of AAU. 

Serena Campbell, with her MBA from Harvard and her medical degree fromOxford, has a singular intent these days. She has been long promised the role of CEO, has had the carrot dangled for years and years, but is always told she’s just shy of good enough, just shy of being ready for the responsibility. So she’s kept her nose to the grindstone, kept long hours, into the dead of night, doing nothing that doesn’t somehow contribute towards her installation as CEO of Holby City Hospital. 

No one ever asks Serena for favors, no one asks her to cover shifts. They dance around her, respect her skill but fear her carriage. She is a pariah to all, no shred of good humor in her eyes, no smile dancing at her lips. Rarely has she a kind word for anyone, just sharp, clipped tones, a model of efficiency in both speech and ethic. 

Bernie Wolfe, once her closest confidant, her best friend, still makes attempts, still puts forward an effort. She asks for her presence at Albie’s, tries to coax her from the office when there is a shared lunch day in the staff area. Serena resists all invitations, pushes them aside, doesn’t show even an inkling that she remembers a time when she and Bernie Wolfe spent nights tangled in sheets, their mouths close, their skin warm. 

“Serena, it’s Christmas,” Bernie pleads, her eyes dark and warm. Serena spares only the briefest glance from her computer, reacts not at all to the festive red sweater, to the twinkling reindeer antlers. She blinks once, slow, and turns back to her paperwork.

“Christmas is a humbug,” she says, “A way to skive off and leave those of us who truly understand what work ethic means to hold things together in your absence.” She sniffs, and doesn’t look up when Bernie slams the office door.

It’s dark when Serena finally leaves, her lamp the only light on the floor of AAU. One lone nurse sits at the desk, spinning idly in her chair as the patients sleep. “All is calm, all is bright” she says when Serena passes by. “It’s a carol,” she explains further at Serena’s pointed look. 

“Is the workplace really the place for carols?” Serena asks, and continues on her way, the lonely ride down the elevator, the brisk walk to her car. As she reaches for her keys, she hears her name, a whisper over her shoulder. Turning to look, she finds her breath catch in her throat as she sees Elinor’s face, pale and ghostly, framed in the large wreath hanging on the outer wall of the hospital. She shakes her head, as if to dislodge the image, and turns back to her car. She’ll allow no specters into her life, not on Christmas Eve, not ever.

Her drive is short, quick, past homes exuding a cozy glow from Christmas lights, chimneys emitting puffs of smoke from their fireplaces. When she pulls into her driveway, her house is cold, dark. She didn’t even buy a tree this year, was never away from work long enough to deem it important. She rubs her hands in the cold air of her house, wonders if she remembered to turn on the heating that morning. 

She drops her keys in the bowl by the door, hangs her coat up on its hook, steps out of her shoes - the only pair in the hallway. Her soft footsteps echo slightly through her empty home as she makes her way to the kitchen in the dark, by memory. She’s lived here a good while, every hall and doorway emblazoned on her memory. She makes tea in the kettle, the pipes groaning as she turns the hot water on, then makes her way to the sitting room, mug held close in her chilled hands.

She builds a fire, small, meager, is obliged to sit close to it to extract any warmth. The tiles around the fireplace are all toile designs, French peasants underneath trees, boating along clear waters. But in an instant, whether because the smoke from the flames has come down the chimney rather than up, obscuring her view, or for some other reason, each tile takes on the visage of Elinor Campbell, staring out at Serena with her translucent eyes.

Serena gasps, low and sharp, almost falls off her short stool backwards. As she blinks, the tiles all revert to their passive, neutral patterns, and Serena tries to tell herself it was nothing, just a figment of her imagination brought about by the silliness of the season.

The sight of Elinor’s face doesn’t leave her, even as she damps the fire, heads up to her room, the bed still unmade from the morning, her nightdress on the floor, ghostlike in its whiteness. She settles under her quilt, draws it close to her chest to keep the chill of the night away, and shuts her eyes against any phantoms that might try to plague her dreams. She falls asleep in moments, dead to the world

The clock in the hall chiming midnight wakes Serena with a start. She hears a thump on the steps, and then another, like someone walking up towards her. She wishes she’d taken the long-ago advice of her mother to keep a baseball bat under her mattress as she casts her eye about for anything with which she might protect herself. 

Before she can truly get her wits about her, she hears footsteps outside her door and tries to remember if she’d locked it the night before. Bolts and fasteners play no part, however, as the ghostly figure of Elinor Campbell floats through the door, her face baleful, her eyes downcast. “Oh, Mum,” she says, “Is this what’s become of you?”

Serena can’t speak, finds her tongue stopped, simply clutches at her blankets, holds them close. Elinor alights on the bed, though the mattress doesn’t dip. Her pale fingers are close to Serena’s feet and she tries to edge them away without drawing attention to the fact. The last thing she should like to do is offend a ghost. 

“What do you want with me?” Serena asks, proud that her voice is not shaking. Elinor blinks for a long moment and Serena can see her robe hanging on the back of the bedroom door through her daughter’s figure, a hazy blue tinge to the world behind her.

“You don’t believe in me,” Elinor says at last, and Serena is tempted to look towards the heavens, roll her eyes back in her head, to think that her daughter has come back from the land of the dead only to pick a fight. 

“I don’t.” Serena’s tone is clipped and Elinor smiles, her face so like her mother’s, the same dent in her chin, the same creases at her mouth, and Serena feels a pang that those wrinkles will never deepen, at the permanence of her youth. 

“Why do you doubt your senses?”

“I’m dreaming.” Serena longs to scrunch her eyes shut, to fall back under the covers, but even if this is all just a fantasy created by her mind, she wants this time with Elinor, this time with her daughter who was taken too soon.

“Why shouldn’t I be here? It’s Christmas, after all, time to spend with your loved ones.” Elinor’s tone is sharp, the voice she used when she was spoiling for an argument. “And I see you don’t have any of those left.” She’s cruel, and Serena cannot hide from it. 

“Why are you tormenting me?” Serena almost moans, creasing the blankets in her fists. 

“To save you, Mum.” Elinor says, leaning forward on the bed, her hand settling on Serena’s shin, accompanied with a cold chill that flies through Serena’s entire body. “You will be visited by three spirits.”

“I’d - I’d rather not. I have work in the morning.” 

Elinor laughs, almost throws her head back in glee. “It’s Christmas, Mum. A time to be with the people you care about.”

“You’re repetitive in your death,” Serena says. “Are the three spirits people I love?” She tries to think who it might be, draws on the depth of her memory, imagines her mother, her grandfather, and draws a blank on the third, tries not to feel any bitterness, tries to rid her heart of the sour feeling of loneliness. 

Elinor ignores Serena. “You will be visited by the first tomorrow, when the clock tolls one -”

“-Couldn’t I have them all at once at be done with it?”

“The second will come on the next night, at the same hour,” Elinor continues, as if Serena had not spoken. “The third on the next night, when the last stroke of midnight sounds.” She’s using her theatrical voice now, the one Serena first heard when she stood on stage as Eponine, clear and deep, like a bell ringing in its surety. 

“Will I see you again?” Serena asks, hopes. She lets the quilt fall, reaches out to her daughter, almost touches her translucent cheek when Elinor draws away, moves to the window and slowly, like mist dissipating, vanishes into the night air, leaving Serena quite chilled and alone. 

She stands from bed, checks the lock on her bedroom door - still fastened - then cautiously climbs back into bed, fluffs a pillow over her head, grumbling at the lateness of the hour, at her strange dreams. She blames the pork she had for lunch, the horrible food in the cafeteria at Holby playing games with her mind, and with those the last thoughts in her head, falls asleep.

\---

When Serena wakes, it is still dark, so dark she can’t make out the wall from the windows, try as she might to peer into the gloom. She hears the clock downstairs chime four times, then continue - five, six, seven - all the way to twelve. “It can’t be possible,” she says on a breath, soft in the quiet of her house, “that I’ve slept the day away. Perhaps it’s twelve noon.” She scrambles to the window, her eyes adjusted to the dark and pushes aside the shade, sees only the moon in the sky.

She blinks, thinks perhaps she’s mistaken about the time at which she went to sleep the night before, and climbs back into bed. Pulling the quilt about her once more, she resolves to stay awake until the clock chimes one, if only to set her mind at ease that she dreamt Elinor’s visit the night before, that no ghosts will be troubling her rest henceforth.

Though she tries to keep her eyes open, she thinks she must’ve dozed as the next moment she is cognizant of, the clock strikes the quarter-hour, the half-hour, the quarter-til, and then one, ominous gong indicating the time at which her first ghostly visitor is set to appear. She blinks into the dark of her room, squints, sees no apparition, no phantom, and smiles to herself. All a dream, brought about by a bad bit of pork at lunch. 

As she settles back against her pillows, she’s suddenly overcome by a blinding light, bursting into the room like a spotlight. She blinks against the brightness, covers her eyes with her hand, can hardly shield herself from the luminescence. 

“Serena Campbell.” The voice is otherworldly, echoing from a distant place. The light fades into a soft emanation from a small, ghostly figure in front of her. 

“Who - who are you?” Serena hates her voice for trembling, hates her hands for how they shake. 

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.” The voice is almost sweet, childlike. The figure, too, is childlike, reminiscent of a doll Serena might’ve owned in her youth, porcelain and fragile in appearance, a sprig of holly tucked in her hair, the light emanating from her the crown of her head. 

“L-long past?” Serena drops her hand to her throat, rubbing at the skin there, a nervous habit. 

“Your past.” Serena finds herself standing, moving towards the apparition as if drawn, free will playing no part in her movements. The spirit holds out her hand. “Walk with me.” Serena reaches for the pale fingers, finds there’s more solidity than she might’ve imagined. The spirit moves towards the window, the same one Elinor vanished through the previous evening. 

“I’m human,” she says, annoyed, irritated, the visit from a ghost and this sprite doing nothing to lessen the gloom about her mind. “I’m liable to fall if we go out that way.”

“But a touch of my hand to your heart and you shall not fall,” the figure says, her fingers dropping Serena’s. She feels a gentle pressure against her heart, screws her eyes shut and follows the spirit towards the window, towards the unknown.

When Serena opens her eyes, she sees that she’s been transported to a sitting room - her mother’s sitting room, the sounds of a pipe organ coming from the record player. Handel’s Messiah, a holiday tradition. And there is Adrienne, seated by the fire, holding out her arms, and a young Serena - so young - bounds into the hug, brown hair gleaming in the firelight, curled and tied in a bright red ribbon. 

Serena can see the tree from her memories in the corner, a small fir tree, the needles dotting the red felt skirt, the white lights blinking from beneath the branches. She can feel tears form behind her eyelids, she remembers this Christmas, the year her mother bought her a copy of _Gray’s Anatomy_ , the year her mother believed her daughter would grow up to be a surgeon.

“You must work very hard, Serena,” her mother is saying, and Serena feels the tears on her cheeks; she’s missed the sound of her mother’s voice so much. “If this is what you want, the work must come first.” The young Serena nods solemnly, holds the thick medical tome in her arms.

“Your mother instilled you the need to work,” the figure says, her figure still glowing slightly. “You have your drive from her.” 

Serena wipes at her cheeks and nods. “Yes,” she says. “She always wanted me to be my best.”

“That must have been hard.” The spirit looks at Serena with consideration in her eyes, gentle and firm all at once. “When she died, your heart began to harden, I think.” Serena is afraid to nod, afraid to agree, just watches her former self, seated on the floor, head leaning against her mother’s knee, paging through a book full of words she can’t even pronounce yet. 

“To happier pasts, I think,” the figure says, holds her hand out to Serena once more, and the world whirls around them, settling only when they’ve arrived to a very familiar sight, to the AAU holiday party, everyone in festive sweaters, beaming smiles. 

“What year is this?” Serena asks, but her own question is answered the minute she sees Bernie Wolfe cautiously enter the room, her first year on the ward, her first Christmas at Holby. It was a cobbled together party after the pipes burst that caused flooding in the emergency department, a hectic day of work. But there’d be no knowing it as the Serena of the past moves through the crowd with elegance, grace, to place herself at Bernie’s side, their shoulders touching, and past Serena’s face is aglow with warmth and happiness. She can barely recognize herself, such a distant feeling. 

She wonders how she ever thought she wasn’t attracted to Bernie, she can see it positively oozing from every pore, the unwillingness to be more than a foot apart, the way her head tilts back in a laugh, the way her eyes track Bernie’s lips. Her heartbeat quickens at the sight of Fletch wandering around with a piece of mistletoe tied to a long stick, dangling it over unsuspecting couples. She remembers this all so clearly, it’s coming back to her like a forgotten dream.

“You loved her, even then,” the spirit says, and Serena can see that she’s watching them as well, two women so enamored and so oblivious.

“I think I did,” she says, but it feels like a different person. Fletch, laughing so hard he can hardly hold the stick steady, makes Bernie and Serena his targets, and Serena closes her eyes as Bernie leans close under the mistletoe. She can remember the soft, tentative touch of her lips, the way her stomach flipped at the taste of Bernie, their first kiss. 

When she opens her eyes, it’s a different party, a different year. She and Bernie are standing just as closely, but her arm is looped through Bernie’s, an elf hat plonked over Bernie’s messy curls and she’s beaming widely, stares at Serena with unabashed joy. It seems like a fairy tale, their love story, like it happened to someone else. 

“Your happiness makes you a different person,” the spirit comments blandly, as if it’s of no concern to her. Serena thinks it’s true, doesn’t know if it made her a better person.

“It made me softer,” she says, willing to admit that. Her former self nuzzles Bernie’s cheek, places a kiss to her jaw, the holiday spirit making her free with affection. The feeling of warmth exudes from the scene, tendrils creeping around Serena’s own heart, and she can feel a smile form at the corners of her mouth, the memory a good one.

In the blink of a moment, the scene changes once more, another Christmas gathering, but Serena can not see herself. She moves away from the partiers, sees the light still on her office, can see herself at her desk, Bernie in the doorway. “It’s Christmas, Serena, let the work lie.” Bernie is wearing the same elf hat, a tradition she’d taken to. Her sweater has jingle bells sewn into the fabric and they tinkle softly as she moves.

“I can’t - I have to finish this report.” Serena recognizes this version of herself, driven focused, passed over for CEO too many times, striving to prove herself worthy of the position, to make herself the best candidate, no other choice possible.

“Hanssen won’t even be in until next week, Serena! Just come, have some punch! Raf’s taken on the duties of mistletoe dangler and rumor has it he’s going to try to get Ric and Guy!” Bernie has a playful smile on her face, but Serena thinks she can hear a sharp edge to her tone, an anger underlying her pleading.

“In a minute. You go, I’ll follow when I’ve finished up.” Serena dismisses Bernie, doesn’t look up again from her computer, though Bernie stands in the doorframe for a long moment before sighing and departing.

She remembers that night, remembers she never went to the party, just ate a cold brownie in the car on the way home while Bernie drove through the quiet streets and didn’t say a word.

“There it is again,” the spirit pipes up, “that need to work, to push yourself.”

“You don’t get anywhere in life without a work ethic,” Serena says sharply. “I have a goal, and going to parties isn’t the way to achieve that goal.”

The spirit says nothing, just a prim look on her face, and she waves her hand, another year, another scene. Serena is still in the office, dressed in black, her face drawn and pinched, her clothes loose. She’d lost so much weight while mourning Elinor. She recognizes the look of a childless woman in the eyes of her past self.

The door to the office is closed, not even a hint of Christmas around, no cards, no tinsel, no baubles. There’s a knock on the door, and Serena braces herself, remembers this conversation, this night. Bernie cautiously lets herself into the office, as if she’s scared of Serena, frightened of what will happen.

“Serena,” her voice is quiet, always a little sibilant on her name, and the Serena of the past looks up for only the briefest of moments, then looks back at her screen. “Serena.” Her voice is firmer and commands attention. “I won’t ask you to come to the party tonight, I know the answer to that by now. But come for Christmas dinner tomorrow, with Cam and Lottie. Be with family”

“It’s not my family.” Serena’s voice is cold, hard, bitter, like an icicle hanging dangerously from the eave of a house. Bernie flinches slightly at the sound, squares her shoulders as Serena opens her mouth again, to spit more vitriol. “It isn’t, and I have no interest in sitting around your flat while you parade your two living children in front of me. Isn’t it enough that you have them still? Do you need to remind me Elinor is gone too? My family is dead, Bernie, in case you’d forgotten.” The Serena of the past has hands clenched tightly into fists and Serena can almost feel the fingernails digging into her own palms. 

“I’m your family too,” Bernie says, her voice thin, but she’s standing her ground and Serena can’t bear to see it. 

“Take me away,” she begs, wants to leave before she has to see it, the moment she knows is coming, but the spirit just points, keeps Serena’s gaze on the scene in front of her.

The Serena of the past stands, moves slowly to Bernie, and then speaks, slowly, carefully. “You are not. You’re just a passing fancy, a woman who drifted into my life, and you’ll drift out again, I’m sure.” 

Serena blinks against tears she didn’t know were falling, wants to reach out to Bernie, to hold her hand, to apologize for these words. 

“You don’t mean that,” Bernie says, but her tone is suddenly fragile, like she’s uncertain, unsure. Her shoulders droop slightly. 

“I do, Ms. Wolfe. Now, go. Go to your Christmas parties and your children and leave those of us who actually care to do work to keep the NHS running. There’s nothing for you here.” 

Serena knows this is the person she’s become, but to see it in front of her, to watch it - it feels like watching a movie, seeing a character become the villain. Bernie looks lost, sad, but the Serena of the past turns on her heel and sits back at the desk. “Close the door on your way out, Ms. Wolfe,” she says, a clear dismissal.

“I cannot bear it,” she says to the spirit, “Take me away.”

“This is your past - do not blame me for it.” But the spirit’s light begins to glow, growing brighter by the second, and Serena has to once more shield her eyes, slaps a hand against her brow, tries to shut out the light.

There is darkness, and she is conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being once more in her own bedroom. She barely has time to reel to bed, before she sinks into a heavy sleep

\---

She wakes in the middle of a breath, fumbling for her bearings. Not knowing the day or time, she reaches for the lamp at her bedside, just as the clock in the hall tolls out an baleful note, signalling the one o’clock hour. While she feels prepared for almost anything to come upon her, she isn’t prepared for the nothingness that follows the echoing chime of the clock. 

Serena sees a light coming from the crack under the door to her closet, can’t remember if she left it on the night before, or whenever this long, seemingly endless nightmare began. She tosses aside the quilt and pads to the closet. The moment her hand touches the knob of the door, she hears a booming voice call her name, bidding her to enter. 

The door opens, and whether she’s turned the knob or it’s opened of its own volition, she doesn’t know, but the light from within pours forth, enveloping her in its warmth. It is her closet, but it has been remade, the clothes swept aside for a table piled high with piping hot food, for a Christmas tree, for a couch, red velvet and lush. What magic that has occurred to make this room appear in her house, Serena doesn’t know, but on this couch, reclining and gluttonously joyful, is a man clothed in robes not unlike those worn by Santa Claus. He is waving aloft a large turkey leg in greeting, drinking from something that looks like the horn of plenty. 

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” he calls forth in a booming voice. “Come in and know me better.” Serena feels her feet move forward, feels almost an eagerness to conduct business with this Ghost. “You’ve never seen the like of me before, have you?” he asks, his smile jolly and bright, and Serena feels her cheeks bunch in an answering grin.

“I haven’t, no,” she says. “Spirit, please, take me where you will tonight. Last evening, I moved about through my past. Am I to take it you’ll guide me through these current times?” Nodding as he stands, the Ghost moves toward Serena, holds out his arm.

“Touch my robe,” he says, and as Serena’s fingers feel the velvety fabric, the room vanishes around them, the snow-covered streets of Holby appearing around them, doors and windows dark, only the lights twinkling from the Christmas trees within casting light into the night.

They move through the world, swiftly, fast as lightning, but the transition is so smooth, Serena barely feels it. She’s holding tightly to the Ghost’s robe as he leads her through the streets, halting them in front of Albie’s. Serena can just see through the slightly fogged windows that the staff of AAU have gathered around a table, laughing and drinking.

“Let us go in!” the Ghost booms, and they glide through as if walls and doors had no meaning. Serena stands, her hands folded, and watches the frivolity before her. There’s some sort of tinny Christmas bagpipe music coming through the sound system and Raf imitates the sound, says he could’ve played better in his youth. 

“Oh, it’s nice to be free of Ms. Campbell,” Morven says, taking a sip of her beer. Fletch nods in agreement. 

“I thought she might say yes when you asked if she’d come! I held my breath!” Raf says, directing his words at Bernie. “She likes her wine well enough, I thought she’d come and drink a bottle, then head back to work! Such a relief when she said no.” 

There’s a chorus of nods around the table, except for Bernie, sitting quietly, sipping at her whisky. “She deserves a break,” Bernie says, “And I wanted to give her the opportunity.” It’s an unexpected kindness from Bernie, one Serena might not have ever expected to hear from her. A bit of ice seems to thaw from her heart. 

“She doesn’t know the meaning of a break,” Fletch says, “hasn’t had one in years.” Again, a round of assents. Bernie stands from the table, goes to the bar. Serena follows, wishes desperately for a moment that she could be seen, that she could thank Bernie. Instead, she just watches as she ducks her head, hiding her eyes beneath her fringe, staring down into her whisky. 

Morven comes up beside Bernie, touches her elbow. “We didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Ms. Wolfe,” she says softly. 

Bernie nods, and Serena wonders if she’s crying. When she looks up at Morven, Serena can see that she is. “She’s still the woman I love,” Bernie says, and the words are so sure, so poignant, so sad that they take Serena’s breath away. Morven pats Bernie’s back as she walks away, sitting back down with the rest of AAU, and Serena has never more desperately wanted to reach out and touch Bernie. 

“Does she - do we - will she be happy again?” Serena asks of the Ghost, turning to look at his looming form in the door of Albie’s. 

He simply shrugs. “She was told there was nothing for her here, spurned by the woman she loves.” Serena hangs her head at the sound of her own spiteful words said in another’s voice. The Ghost continues solemnly, “Perhaps happiness is not meant for Berenice Wolfe. I see not the future, rather things as they are, and only a haze of things as they might be.”

“Come, it is a short night and we have much to do,” the Ghost says, holding out his sleeve once more for Serena to take. The moment her hand touches the fabric, they again begin to move through the streets apace, the lamplight whirling past. 

They come to a stop in the living room of Alan’s home, a small row house with a tree in the front window, the place made cozy with an electric fireplace. The TV is on, though it’s a commercial break, and Jason and Alan have a game of Scrabble in front of them. Alan puts down “COLD” for fourteen points and Jason stares at the tiles. 

“That’s what Auntie Serena has become,” he says, and Serena gasps a little. She knows she’s lost some of the closeness she and Jason once shared, knows he’s distant from her, but it’s still hard to hear. “They call her the ice queen of AAU at the hospital, I heard Raf say it when he didn’t know I was listening.”

Alan taps a tile against the table. “She is different, your auntie,” he says after a moment, lowering the volume on the television. “Losing her mum and Elinor, that was hard on her. Grief is hard.”

“Yes, I know that. I still feel sad about my mother, but I didn’t become cold like Auntie Serena.” Serena nods, though she can’t be seen. She has always admired Jason’s resilience, in the face of everything, his bravery. Then the commercial ends and the Christmas edition of Countdown resumes, a festive Rachel Riley at the ready to pull letters. 

“He’s a good boy, is your Jason,” says the Ghost and Serena turns to look at him, realizes she’s clapped a hand over her mouth, keeping the emotion trapped inside. “He’s managed it all in spite of you, too.” 

Serena feels the words like barbs in her skin. “I wasn’t good for him,” she says, admitting it to herself as well as the Ghost. 

“He needed you and you let him fall to the wayside, as you did everyone else in your life. You weren’t the only one who lost Elinor.” His voice is softer, less of the booming baritone from earlier. He seems to take up less space, like he’s smaller. He holds his arm out to Serena once more and she grasps it, and they move across town, back to Holby, to Henrik Hanssen’s office, spartan and Scandinavian.

He and Ric Griffin are seated in the chairs in front of the large desk. “We’ll be in need of someone to run things,” Ric says, steepling his fingers, leaning his chin against them. 

“You know Ms. Campbell will be expecting it,” Henrik answers, stoic, Swedish, implacable. Serena holds her breath, because this is it, what she’s wanted, what she’s worked for. If this is truly Christmas Present, perhaps she is seeing what will come to pass this very year.

“She’s not ready, Henrik. You can see it as well as I can.” Serena wishes desperately to be able to hit Ric, feels betrayed by him. Frustration wells up within her: when will she be ready? When will she be good enough? Is it not enough she’s given up her entire life for Holby City? What more must she sacrifice.

“I thought she would be, several years ago.” Henrik’s speech is slow, thoughtful. “But she isn’t well-liked, and respect can only take one so far.” He says it as if he’s reluctant to admit it, and Serena knows it pains him to say it, that he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for her.

“She’s cold,” Ric says bluntly, and Serena wants to drown out that adjective, wants to be something else. To be thought of so disparagingly by the people she’s worked to impress, and to have her work ethic, her mannerisms, be the very thing standing in her way? It’s unconscionable, and Serena wants to be anywhere but in this room. 

As if the Ghost exists to grant her wishes, the world dissolves around her, leaving her standing in the middle of the high street of Holby, the large clock tower tolling out midnight. “I take my leave of you, Serena Campbell,” he says, his voice distant and quivering, his body frail. “My time here is short, I am but an ephemeral being. The present lasts for but a moment, and it is quickly fading.”

He fades from existence before Serena’s eyes as the clock continues to chime. Serena remembers Elinor’s words from before, looks up as the last stroke of midnight sounds to see a cloaked shape in front of her, tall and ominous.

\---

Serena feels a sort of solemn dread as the figure approaches, silent and large, a mist swirling around the skirt of the robe, a fog settling about the square. “Am I - am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?” she asks, her voice faltering. She thinks she’s never felt more scared, not even at the appearance of Elinor’s ghost in her bedroom. The figure nods, still no sound emanating from its presence. 

Serena stares for a long moment, feels as though the figure is staring back, though she can make out no face, no eyes to speak of. Then the Ghost moves, and she can do nothing but follow, feels swallowed up in its shadow as they move, the city springing up about them as they pass through. 

They stop at an unfamiliar building, cold and run-down, bricks crumbling in the wall, a window boarded up, a large, dangerous-looking shard of ice hanging from the drainpipes around the roof. The figure points at the stairs, indicating where Serena is meant to go. She musters her courage, feeling quite on edge, almost numb with fear, and walks slowly up the steps, finds herself in a room within, no memory of opening any doors, of walking through any hallways. 

Jason is there, sitting on a small bed, a picture of his mother on his dresser. There is nothing else in the room, just bare walls, the suggestion of where a television might have been once, and Serena feels a pang in her chest, remembers the girl who tricked him so long ago, who took his money and his possessions, remembers the pride she felt when he stood up to her. This is a Jason who lost that confidence, that support, and she can only shake her head in regret.

His phone rings and he answers it. “Yes, hello. Yes, I’m fine, Alan. Thank you.” Serena wonders why Jason is no longer staying with Alan, looks to the figure, who has appeared beside her in the room, the gloom about it overtaking her. No explanation is forthcoming and she turns back to Jason. “I lit a candle in the church for Mum, Elinor and Auntie Serena, like you said. It felt silly. But it looked nice.” Serena holds a hand to her heart, looks back to the spirit.

“Am I dead?” she asks, and the only response is a silent nod. “Is this Jason’s life because I was not there for him? Can this be avoided?” She suddenly feels desperate to save Jason from this fate, desperate to protect him, to care for him. She misses him in a fierce sort of way, just wants to pull him close and promise that she’ll be there for him forever, can imagine his wry response that it’s impossible to promise such a thing.

The building vanishes around them and they once more move through the streets, to a part of town Serena’s never been to before. She sees a house, all lit up and perfect, like a picture from Currier and Ives. “Where are we?” she asks, though by now, she expects no answer, knows that the intractable Ghost will simply point her up the stairs, into the home.

The sitting room is cozy, warm. A woman is sitting at the piano, short, dark hair, a beaming smile. She’s playing carols, singing in a beautiful, clear alto. And then a reedy tenor joins her, Bernie Wolfe appearing from the kitchen, holding two wine glasses. She sets them both on the piano, pauses in her vocalizations to place a kiss to the crown of the woman’s head.

She’s followed into the room by Cameron and Charlotte, all smiling and happy. It looks like a family, Serena thinks, and as much as she is glad to see Bernie at peace, she can feel her heart clench that she is not a part of this picture. She once thought Bernie was her home, her future, her everything. 

“Oh, let’s play a game,” Charlotte says when the piano trails away and there’s enthusiastic agreement. Serena can feel Bernie’s contentment, can see how pleased she is to be with her children. She thinks she’ll always know Bernie this well, will always understand the intrinsic aspects of her being. 

“How about Yes and No?” Cameron asks, and once again, the room is in agreement. Charlotte goes first, takes her time to think of something, leaving the rest to guess what, while she can only answer their questions yes or no, as the case was. 

She is exposed to a brisk fire of questions, that she is thinking of an animal, one recently passed, a rather disagreeable one, judging by the way her lip curls at the question. The animal in question had once lived in Holby, and wasn't made a show of. 

“Is it cold-blooded?” asks Bernie, and Charlotte giggles, nods in the affirmative. There is then a barrage of questions about whether it is a snake, a lizard, a gecko, a fish, increasingly silly animals, each one leaving Charlotte laughing.

At last Cameron, letting out a hoot of laughter, the goose-like guffaw he inherited from his mother, cries out: “I have found it out! I know what it is, Lottie! I know what it is!” 

“What is it?” Charlotte’s glee is almost uncontainable. “Why, if it’s icy and cold and recently dead, it _must_ be Serena Campbell!” Charlotte nods, an answering laugh falling from her lips. 

Bernie’s face hardens at that, but Charlotte and Cam seem slightly oblivious, apparently continuing their ability to hold grudges, clearly still upset at the woman who broke their mother’s heart years ago. The brunette woman bites at her lip, darts a look at Bernie, who won’t meet her eyes. 

Serena can see the sadness coming back to settle around Bernie’s shoulders, wishes for all the world that she might do something to stop it, to make herself well thought of again in the eyes of the Dunn children, in the eyes of their mother. Before she can do anything, the Ghost points towards the door, gestures that it is time for them to take their leave, the world of Bernie’s future disappearing around them as they once more move through the streets of Holby.

They don’t stop until they reach the memorial garden at Holby City, poinsettias, roses, wreaths, all decorating the benches and trees, marking the plaques. “It’s nice,” the voice of an F1 says, someone Serena’s never seen before, “that people still come out here, pay their respects.” 

Serena sees Arthur’s plaque, remembers the day they hung it. She can see a small bouquet of roses placed below it, tied with a white ribbon. She wonders if they’re from Morven or Dom, almost reaches down to look, but the didactic finger of the Ghost points her back to the conversation. “This one has nothing,” the other doctor says, pushing aside some leaves, pulling at some vines that have grown over it. 

She moves forward then, sees the small square in the corner, her name etched darkly in the shiny metal. It’s chipped and not well cared for, tucked away out of sight, and it makes Serena’s heart hurt. The first F1 snorts at it derisively. “It’s only up there because she died in her office. Old Lady Campbell, unwilling to retire, to let go. She got shunted around from department to department because they didn’t want to fire her, but no one wanted to work with her.”

Serena wishes it was harder for her to picture, an older version of herself all alone, and working til the end, bitter and _cold_. She wraps her arms around herself, feels like she might shatter. “I’m not the woman I was,” she says, and can feel the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Tell me I can change my future. I will keep the lessons I’ve learned, just tell me I can avoid this future!” She almost falls on her knees in front of the Ghost, wants to sob into the hem of its robes, wants to do anything to avoid this awful, horrible, _lonely_ feeling. 

She grasps for the hand, the ever-pointing hand, feels it shudder in her grip, and it all seems to melt away, shrinking, collapsing, turning into nothing more than her duvet.

\---

Serena wakes up to the sound of her phone ringing, an incessant buzz. She’s clutching her blankets in her hands, her fingers stiff from their grip. In the haze of her sleep, she fumbles to slide her thumb across the screen to answer, hears Jason’s voice on the other end. “Happy Christmas, Auntie,” he says and Serena sits up in bed. 

“Christmas? Is it really Christmas?” Serena can see the sun is up through the curtains, the light spilling through into the room. She imagines the blue sky and the crisp air, a perfect winter’s day, and feels a certain sort of joy at the idea of it.

“Of course it’s Christmas. It’s December 25th.” Serena pulls her phone away from her ear, stares at it for a moment, as if it will provide some answer to the mysterious situation in which she finds herself.

“So I haven’t missed it?” She hears Jason’s sigh on the other end of the call, knows that he’s the last person to have any sort of tolerance for her current bemused state. “Right, of course. Happy Christmas, Jason. I’m so pleased to hear your voice.” She thinks of the lonely Jason of the future, sitting quiet and sad, and her heart clenches, stutters. She will avoid that future for him, she will be better. “Can you come over for Christmas dinner tonight? You and Alan?”

“You’re making Christmas dinner, Auntie? What about the hospital?” Serena has worked every Christmas, every holiday, for the past six years, whether she’s been scheduled or not, to prove her commitment, her worth. She thinks, perhaps, she can miss it this year.

“The hospital will be there tomorrow. Christmas won’t.” Serena can practically hear the wheels turning in Jason’s brain and continues before he can say no. “I’ll tape the Christmas special of Doctor Who. I’ll make mashed potatoes the way you like. Anything you need, I’ll do it. Just - just come. Please.”

“I will talk to Alan and ring you back,” Jason says, and Serena thinks that’s as close to a yes as she’ll get for a last minute plan, and lets him hang up the phone. She sits tall in bed, tries to wrap her head around what’s happened to her, what must’ve occurred last night. Considerably more than a bad bit of pork at lunch, she supposes. 

Her heart feels as light as the sun coming through the window, and she remembers what it’s like to feel excited about Christmas, remembers the holiday spirit, like a familiar sweater, a well-worn shoe. She has another chance, a chance to mend all that she’s broken, to avoid the _cold_ future that was foretold. 

She looks down at her phone, knows the person she has to call next.

Bernie answers on the second ring, her voice smooth, no jagged edges of sleep blunting her words. There’s even a hint of warmth when she hears Serena’s voice, when she greets her with a hello. “I’d love it if you could come over for dinner tonight,” she says, tentative, unsure, all the wrongs she’d committed still fresh in her mind. 

“You’re having a Christmas dinner?” 

“There’s a lot of disbelief about that, apparently,” Serena says wryly, “But it’s true. And - and I love for you to come. If you’re not spending it with Cam and Charlotte.” She remembers the days of phones with cords, desperately wishes for something to occupy her nervous fingers. 

“They’re with Marcus. You said Christmas was a humbug?” Bernie brushes past her children’s Christmas plans, a sure sign she’s feeling sore about it. 

“I’ve - I’ve changed. I’m different.” 

“That much of a change in twenty-four hours?” Serena can hear the incredulity in Bernie’s voice, can’t blame her in the slightest. 

“It’s all too much to explain, at least not over the phone. Come, please. Whenever you like.” Serena hears a small hum on the phone, the sound of Bernie considering the offer, and then:

“Yes.” It’s quiet, Serena almost thinks she imagined it, but she smiles, beams against her phone. 

Serena spends the day cleaning her house, making it look like a real person inhabits the space. She imagines it’s too late to find a tree, but manages to find a few decorations stuffed in boxes in her attic. She finds her mother’s recording of the Messiah, puts it in her player, lets the pipe organ fill the house. The treetop angel finds a place on the mantelpiece, she hangs stockings from the bannister. It isn’t enough, but it’s something. It’s what she can do. 

Jason and Alan arrive first and there are awkward hugs, and stilted conversation. She gives him the remotes as she goes to the kitchen to make tea, the water pipes still groaning their protest at the work. Bernie’s sharp knock is a relief and Serena almost knocks her wine glass off the table. 

Bernie looks as nervous as Serena feels, standing on her front stoop, her hands worrying the fringe on the edge of her scarf, and Serena feels such a lurch in her heart at the sight of that silly blonde mop, the way her teeth drag against her lower lip nervously. 

“Come in,” she says, stops herself from bussing her warm cheek against Bernie’s cold one. 

The awkwardness never really lifts, though Serena does her best to be charming, the perfect hostess. She has potatoes with no lumps for Jason, she has Bernie’s favorite whisky, serves turkey, hot and piping. Carols filter through her stereo, festive and quiet. She feels tense with the strain of trying to make amends, of trying to be the person they all deserve.

She doesn’t have presents, wasn’t prepared for that, but before they leave, she promises to take Jason out for lunch within the week, thanks Alan for all he’s done.

And then she’s left alone with Bernie. They sit on the couch, at opposite ends, the space between them vast and insurmountable. “I’m sorry,” she says, when the silence feels too much, when it threatens to overtake her, to strangle her. It isn’t enough, couldn’t begin to cover the pain she’s caused, but when she looks at Bernie, sees those dark eyes, bright with unshed tears, she thinks Bernie might understand. 

The silence reigns again, but it feels less hostile, less suffocating. Instead, there is an air of consideration, of dreaming about the possibility that things might change, that there might be a different world ahead of them. Serena reaches deep into her inner self, chooses to be brave. “I’d like to start over, start fresh.”

“I don’t think we can start over,” Bernie says carefully, her words measured, and Serena feels her face fall, reminds herself that she knew this was a possibility, knew that Bernie might not want her. She thinks of Bernie’s future, the one where she was happy and carefree, cozy with another woman on a couch. Maybe she can’t change that. 

She’s brought back to the moment when Bernie’s fingers reach out to lightly touch her chin, forcing her eyes up to meet Bernie’s gaze, and her mouth opens - she’s still speaking: “But I think we can start again.” Bernie moves in slowly, cautiously, touches her lips to Serena’s, soft and sweet, brushes against her mouth, gentle, like a snowflake falling from the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> The word pipe/piping is used eleven times. :)


End file.
